To Paint a Picture
by Ersatz Writer
Summary: He is a painting passed on from one person to the next, and after so many years of corrupting and altering, it's time, he thinks, for a new canvas. One-shot


**A/N**: This is dedicated to all my friends. For all their support, kindness, care, attention, loyalty, and friendship which I know I will never forget. Thank you.

Also, a huge round of applause to **PhoenixFlame53**, who has looked over this very carefully and given me some great, very detailed feedback. Yay! *throws confetti*

I hope you enjoy this little ficlet.

**Disclaimer: Ace Attorney belongs to Shuu Takumi**

* * *

><p><strong>To Paint a Picture<strong>

Gregory Edgeworth was a man of many talents – of that, Miles was certain. To the young boy, his father seemed capable of anything. Not only was he a brilliant defence attorney, but he was also a skilled linguist and incredibly adept with music. Even cooking, a hurdle many men fail at, was something which Gregory Edgeworth seemed to master with relative ease, though of course he himself - modest as he was - claimed it was survival which had forced that particular skill upon him.

Still, for all of his father's talent, Miles did not expect art to be one of the categories.

"Father, I didn't know you could paint."

Gregory smiled patiently at his son's blunt remark. "Well… It's just a hobby really. A bit of fun outside of the courtrooms." He stood back, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "What do you think, Miles?"

"Hmm…" Miles tilted his head, considering the picture. It was nothing remarkable yet, only a rough, grey sketch, marked with pencil, depicting the faintest outlines of a tall, powerful mountain framed against the sky and a little village nestled at its base. Despite the fact that his father had barely begun to paint, Miles could already imagine the splendour of the finished product. The mountain would be impressive, shaded a deep ocean blue that was layered with white at the very tip. The sky, he thought, would be a calm, refreshing cyan, like the colour of a spring breeze, dotted with soft, gentle clouds. And the village… He had no doubt that his father's brush would breathe life into those grey, pencil-marked buildings. It would be a rosy, warm little settlement, filled with people comfortably going about their lives in relative harmony. _It would be an orange kind of place_, thought Miles. He didn't particularly understand why, but orange had always struck him to be a cheerful colour. A little gullible perhaps, but cheerful.

"Miles?" His father waved him out of his reverie with a faint smile. "Are there really somany mistakes with my painting?"

"What? No, no, Father, not at all." Miles shook his head seriously. "I think it will turn out very well. I just didn't know you could paint."

"An amateur, that's what I am." Gregory sighed wistfully, but Miles assumed he was being modest, as always. "I'm no expert in art, but it's a fascinating subject, and a good outlet for spending all that time around crime scenes."

"I guess…" Miles watched his father in fascination. The painting process was slow, but meticulous. Each colour from the palette was selected with care, each gentle dab calculated and precise. _My father is a genius_, thought the boy proudly and without reserve.

Still, the process was a little slow...

"Father?" He asked, eventually.

"Yes, Miles?"

"How long are you going to take with this?" The little boy folded his arms. "You've been painting the same spot for a while now."

Gregory laughed warmly, and ruffled his son's hair. "It takes time, Miles," he explained, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "If you want anything to turn out to be great, then you must spend time with it, and care for it." He paused. "Oh… That reminds me. About that sunflower you were trying to grow. I don't think you've been watering it for some time, have you?"

"Ah… No." Miles hung his head, flushing a little in shame. "I-I'm sorry, Father…"

"Remember, only love and care will bear fruit." Gregory stated simply, and though his tone was relatively relaxed, Miles nodded fervently and took his words to heart. For a moment, father and son sat in relative silence, and eventually the defence attorney changed the subject. "...Oh, Miles, I believe you wanted to invite your friends around on Friday…?"

Many afternoons, Miles recalled, seemed to be spent like this. His father worked diligently on the painting in his spare time, and whilst he painted Miles would sit by his side and read, or play the piano, or simply chat. They always talked about simple things - small things, such as: 'How was work?' 'What did you do in school?' 'How are Phoenix and Larry?' 'What happened in the trial today?' It was the way they bonded, as father and son. There was no one else Miles respected and admired more.

But his father never finished that painting, and somehow, Miles had always felt, on the day his father's life ended, so too, did the life of the 'Mountainside Village'.

* * *

><p>"I will allow you to take four luggage bags of belongings." Manfred von Karma spoke harshly and with the tone of one who demanded respect, and he did not hesitate to issue orders as soon as he stepped into the Edgeworth household. "Four. You are a young boy, four bags should be plenty."<p>

"… Yes, sir." Miles mumbled, fidgeting a little under the gaze of the sharp-eyed prosecutor. He didn't particularly understand why this man, this man who had defeated his father, would want to take him in, but Gregory Edgeworth had always emphasised to him that prosecutors and lawyers alike were merely doing their job. He had always told Miles that, off court, most lawyers were as reasonable and likable as any other human being… though Manfred Von Karma appeared to be the sole exception. The elderly man had his arms folded impatiently, his eyes grey and cold and darting about him with a faint distaste that made Miles want to disappear into the ground.

He was glad to leave the prosecutor downstairs whilst he padded up to his own room, and it was only when he was alone, back in the house he was so familiar, that the full impact of what had happened, what was _going_ to happen, occurred to him. The absence of his father had left his home, and indeed, much of his world, empty. Suddenly, nothing seemed worth as much as it had once done. Suddenly, nothing seemed really to matter.

In the end, he only packed the essentials: clothes, toothbrush, a few books, his flute, and his pencil case. After some hesitation, he picked up a few photographs as well. In total, they only filled up two bags.

"Hmph. Make sure you have everything," Von Karma's voice was unfeeling when Miles struggled back down the stairs with his bags in hand. The prosecutor looked at him icily, and stated: "We will not return here again."

"Y-Yes, sir." Miles nodded, setting his bags down on the floor in order to take a better look at his home, his former home, for the last time. He felt too detached from the real world to cry. Instead, his eyes fell upon the piano his father had bought for his mother, many years ago. It was a short, stocky stand-up piano, steady and wooden. The keys were aged under his fingers, but his father had produced beautiful melodies with his mother upon it, and as Miles grew older he had taught him to produce the same, lilting tunes. Now it was silent. Mournful. He didn't think he would ever play on it again.

"We can do better than that," Von Karma must have spotted the direction of his gaze, for he moved forwards, blocking Miles' view. "Once you are living at the Von Karma household, I will buy you a grand piano."

"… S-Sir…" Miles mumbled, dipping his head. _I don't want another piano. _But somehow, refusal did not seem polite. "Um… th-thank you."

"Now," Von Karma dismissed the boy's gratitude with a wave of his hand, and turned away, his tone final. "Is there anything else you wish to bring? I am a busy person, boy."

Miles looked about him, but immediately wished he hadn't for the bitter pain stabbing in his heart. He saw his father's half-open study, door canted so that it almost appeared as though Gregory Edgeworth was about to emerge at any moment. Only he wouldn't. And the room, once filled with the warm presence of his father, was as bereft of life as his heart.

"Sir…" He spoke up, hesitantly, quietly. "May I… take a last look in Father's study?"

Manfred Von Karma looked impatient, his arms folded and one finger tapping idly on his elbow. But to Miles' surprise, he nodded - a sharp jerk of his head. "Very well, Edgeworth," he said, shortly, and Miles wondered why he was being addressed by his surname, "You have my permission, but you must be quick."

"Thank you, sir." Miles bowed, a little stiffly, and made his way carefully towards the study.

It looked exactly as his father had last left it. The desk was immaculate, save for a few folders and a lone pen, both of which were overlooked by a small, stout little table lamp. A computer sat patiently in the corner of the desk, shadowed by a tall shelf of court records and files, and then, Miles noticed, tucked beneath the study desk, was a folded up canvas stand.

Abruptly, he remembered the painting. It must be here somewhere too… He dropped to his knees, frowning. His father had been working on it just a few weeks ago. Where would he have put it…?

"Edgeworth," he heard Von Karma's deep, rumbling voice from somewhere in the living room. "Have you finished?"

"Not yet, sir!" He called back, pulling open a set of drawers. If he remembered correctly, this was where father kept his canvases… 'Mountainside Village' was the only painting his father had shared with him. Miles did not want to lose it.

_Where…? Where is it…?_

"Edgeworth!"

He found it, in the nick of time. Carefully extracting the half-finished painting out of the drawer, Miles tucked it between his arms and hurried out of the study.

"I'm sorry, sir." He gasped, his face flushing red both from his panic and shame. "I-I'm ready now."

Manfred Von Karma looked at him, grey eyes harsh and steely, and almost immediately they settled upon the painting the boy was clutching in his hands. "Oh? And what is this?"

"It's… It's my father's painting." Miles explained, reluctantly handing the canvas over when Von Karma extended a large, powerful hand. "He liked art… I think it may be his first painting after my mother…"

"Gregory Edgeworth paints, does he?" A cross between a smirk and a smile appeared upon Von Karma's face as he studied the picture, and Miles couldn't tell from the prosecutor's tone whether it was one of admiration or condescension. "… But this is incomplete."

"… Yes," Miles twisted his hands behind his back. Indeed, only the base colours of the sky and the mountain had been painted in flat, simple shades of blue. The village had been untouched, as were the trees. Never would they be crafted in the way they were supposed to be.

Von Karma was silent for a moment, musing over the picture, but eventually, another smirk, and this time, it _was_ a smirk, flitted across his features.

"In that case, Edgeworth, with your permission," the elder man looked down upon the boy and his gaze was overwhelming, "perhaps you will allow me to finish it."

Miles blinked in surprise. His instinctive reaction was to refuse, but there was no way he could have said 'no'. Manfred Von Karma was intimidating, and Miles did not want to start off on the wrong foot with the man who was offering him a home.

"… If you want to, sir."

"Excellent." Von Karma grinned. "Then I shall keep a hold of this for the time being." He looked down at the boy. "Do not look so worried, Edgeworth. You will have this back, one day."

Miles nodded, keeping his eyes firmly fixed to the ground.

"… Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>So the painting ended up in Von Karma's hands, and Miles did not see it again for 11 years.<p>

Strangely enough, when he finally laid eyes upon it again, it was much the same scenario. He was packing. This time, however, he was preparing himself for a trip to America. He was on the way to becoming a prosecutor.

"Miles Edgeworth!" The young voice sounded far too biting for its age, and Miles turned, reluctantly, to find his adoptive sister, Franziska, stood in the doorway to his room, her riding crop in hand. She was glaring at him. "Papa wants to see you."

"I see," Miles nodded and resumed packing. "Tell him I will be there in a second."

Franziska lashed him. "I am not your messenger!" She snapped, indignantly. "I only listen to Papa! And besides," she folded her arms, scowling. "Just because you became a prosecutor before me doesn't mean you can boss me around!" Her eyes narrowed. "You're still my little brother, Little Brother."

Miles sighed, shaking his head. It was always like this. He didn't particularly understand why Franziska liked to goad him so - he assumed it was just her young age - but nevertheless, there were occasions when he found himself vaguely irritated by her constant, jealous taunts.

"Alright, I will go see him now." He acquitted, calmly walking towards the door. She was just a child, he had no quarrels with her.

Franziska scowled and put an arm out to stop him from exiting. "Oh, and Sister said your sunflower's wilting," she said, her expression challenging, waiting for a response. "She said you'd better look after it or else she's going to throw it out."

"Noted." Miles replied, coolly, and brushed her arm aside.

She whipped him for that, and when he was sure she couldn't see him he winced and rubbed his shoulder.

Manfred Von Karma was waiting in his office, his back towards the door and his eyes focused upon the windows. Miles approached the open doorway silently and raised his hand to knock, but before he had the chance to move further Von Karma spoke. His voice was gravelly and stern. "You may enter, Edgeworth." He commanded.

Miles froze a little in surprise, but ultimately decided a discussion on the state of Von Karma's hearing was not necessary. "… You asked for me, sir?" He asked instead, taking a few, tentative steps within the office.

"I did," there was a sharp glint in Von Karma's eyes when he turned. "You are departing for America tomorrow, aren't you?"

Miles nodded. "Yes, sir."

Von Karma smirked. "You have become a fine prosecutor, Edgeworth," he commended, settling himself comfortably upon his office chair. "I look forward to hearing of your victories in America. You will make me proud, I am sure."

Miles bowed. "I will try not to disappoint."

"_Try_ not to disappoint, boy?" Von Karma gave a short bark of laughter. "Miles Edgeworth, you _will_ not disappoint, and you _will_ achieve absolute victories. That is the standard I set for my disciple. Understood?"

Miles kept his head lowered. "Yes, sir."

"Hmph. Good, I see I have not wasted my years upon you." The smirk was back upon Von Karma's face. "To commend you for achieving your prosecutor's badge, I have… a present for you."

Miles' eyes brightened briefly with surprise. "A present?" He repeated, somewhat doubtfully. He had never known Manfred Von Karma to give any presents except during Christmases and birthdays, especially to him. "Sir, I…"

"There is nothing to be frightened about," Von Karma interrupted, though the dark look in his eyes made Miles think otherwise. "You remember that painting, by your father, 10 or 11 years ago? If you recall, it had been incomplete."

Miles frowned. "Yes, sir…?"

"Well, I have completed the image," Von Karma's unsettling smile spread back across his face and, pulling himself up from his desk, he moved towards a canvas stand draped over with a cover. "This is my painting, Edgeworth."

The cover fluttered off, and Miles stared.

It was a painting of a thunderstorm, the background a dark, terrifying sky blotted with angry, churning clouds. The mountain which had, in his mind, been such a powerful, calming presence, was now a monster. Its shadow fell across a village grey with fear. Around the cowering houses loomed a forest stony faced and cold, splattered and pelted with a cascading, never-ending downpour of rain. He turned his head stiffly, and noted the stray bolt of lightning shredding through the canvas with all the ferocity of a dying scream. It took all his will just to suppress his shudder.

"I have named it 'Stormy Night'," the old prosecutor growled, and his deep, rumbling words completed the image. Von Karma's voice was the thunder, the thunder that roared and rolled like a fierce beast, snarling and biting… Miles stared at the painting and wondered if that was what his father really intended.

He swallowed.

"It's… It's wonderful, sir."

"I wish you luck," said Von Karma, and Miles heard it as though it were from another world. "This is the beginning of your new life, Miles Edgeworth."

* * *

><p>He caught himself doodling in the middle of examining a report.<p>

It was something of a startling revelation for Miles, and he could only thank the Heavens that he had been sketching in pencil rather than pen. Inwardly berating himself for sinking to such childish depths, he hastily erased the evidence and sighed, rubbing his forehead.

He had been working hard in the recent months, but nothing seemed to register. Case after case flitted by without leaving much trace in his memory. Win or lose, it no longer seemed important – in fact, nothing did. Nothing made sense in the way it once had a few years ago. He felt lost, confused… In one, short year his beliefs had been overthrown, his entire identity exposed to the open to be judged and questioned. Prosecutor? Defence attorney? Surely, in essence, they had always been the same thing?

He sighed once more, feeling the familiar, almost automatic furrowing of his brows as he mused. _What is my purpose as a prosecutor? How should I pursue the path of truth? _The answers, once so clear, now seemed more distant and murky than ever.

It frightened him, this sudden loss of being and certainty. He had always looked at his badge and told himself that that was who he was, and yet… and yet…

_How close was I to becoming a monster? If Wright was not there, how far would I have walked down that path? How long would I have continued, until... until I became the very thing I had once so despised?_

It always left him in a cold sweat to think of it, and unbidden, his eyes wandered to Von Karma's painting.

It had been four years since that painting had been handed over to him. For four years it had hung there, a dark, foreboding shadow smudged upon his walls. It was a painful reminder of a time when he knew no better, of a time in which he would rather not recall, and he found himself wondering what was stopping him from discarding it. He concluded he had been too busy, but somehow, a strange urge drove him to examine the picture for the first time in a long time.

… Of course. Once, this had been a masterpiece of his father's. He should never have allowed Von Karma to taint it with his darkness.

And yet…

As he ran his hand across the dried paint, he saw, for the first time, hidden beneath the heavy, powerful strokes of his former mentor, the subtle, careful colours left behind by his father.

The paints were faint with age, but they were still present. Despite the thick, rough hand of Von Karma's art, the hints of Gregory Edgeworth's masterpiece remained. It lingered in the swift shapes of the trees, the shades of blue beneath the heavy storm clouds, and, when Miles took a step back to look at it from afar, he realised that Von Karma had never changed the essence of the painting.

_He merely coloured it in… The sketch, the drawing, the meaning… Those still belong to my Father. _

He tilted his head slightly. With enough imagination, he could just about imagine the 'Mountainside Village' shining through above the 'Stormy Night' – warm and full of life. That was the true face of the painting. He was sure of it.

_… __But I've lost that now. And I know that there's no going back..._

* * *

><p>Edgeworth wasn't sure what made him bring up the subject of the painting to Phoenix. The man had appeared in his office during an investigation of a case, with his cheerful, perky young assistant trailing, as always, with him. Both had seemed content to poke around with his various items, and he had graciously allowed them to do so with only the faintest hint of irritation. Most possibly that was how the topic arose – it would have been rude not to engage in conversation. They were, after all, his guests, no matter how uninvited.<p>

"So Von Karma painted this, huh?" Maya nodded, frowning at the dark, thundering image before her. "I don't understand why you still keep it, Mr. Edgeworth! After all he's done to you…"

"It's not for his sake that I keep this painting," Edgeworth found himself explaining patiently, though he allowed just a hint of exasperation to slip through. "If you must know, this had once been a painting by my Father. Unfortunately, he never completed it, so Von Karma offered…" He let his voice trail off in thought, grey eyes cool and quiet.

Phoenix appeared to be thinking seriously, but Maya nodded, smiling. "I understand, Mr. Edgeworth!" She chirped, brightly. "You wanna keep this to remember your Dad, am I right?"

Edgeworth found himself opening his mouth, but when he considered her words properly he hastily shut it again. No. It did not feel quite right. The painting had, as a personal item, reminded him fairly little of Gregory Edgeworth, and though it had been heavily edited by Manfred Von Karma, it did not entirely represent the fearsome prosecutor either. No… He kept this painting because…

"I suppose I've been keeping it because it reminds me of myself."

The answer surprised both himself and, apparently, Maya too, but even as he spoke, he knew he was uttering the truth. This painting reflected everything that he was and still is. His ugliness and his beauty, displayed altogether in one marred image. He shook his head.

"I've been thinking about this for a while now... But I think it's time to throw it out."

For a moment, the office was silent, as all three considered the implications behind his words.

"… I think you're right."

"Nick?" Maya was the one to voice Miles' own surprise, and both prosecutor and assistant turned to look at the insofar silent defence attorney. Instinctively, Edgeworth felt a frown pull upon the corners of his mouth as grey eyes met blue. One sharp, one clear.

"What do you mean, Nick?" Maya pressed, looking flabbergasted. "You can't make Mr. Edgeworth throw it away! It might have been ruined by Von Karma, but…" She glanced towards the prosecutor, as though expecting some form of back up. "… It was still originally his father's painting, right? I-It meant something to him."

"No, Maya. This is different." Phoenix's tone was unusually firm as he spoke, and his eyes glowed, as though looking to convey another message. "Edgeworth, honestly, I think you'll do well with a different painting."

Edgeworth stared back at him. "A… different painting." He echoed, trying hard not to raise his voice into a question, but Phoenix must have guessed anyway, for he smiled.

"I mean, a new painting," he explained. "A new canvas. This one is an object of the past. We…" he tilted his head. "… We don't need it anymore."

"Wright…" Edgeworth glanced at the painting, hands clenching tightly around each other. "I…"

Phoenix continued. "Besides, it also looks kind of depressing." He said, bluntly. "I'm sorry, but it doesn't even suit your room. The colours clash quite badly." When Edgeworth frowned at him, he put up both hands. "Hey, I took art in university, OK?"

"Is that why you're such a bad lawyer?" Maya asked, grinning.

"That's not fair." Phoenix groaned, rolling his eyes. "But seriously, Miles. I think you'd like to turn over a new leaf, right?"

_Miles…_ Edgeworth bowed his head. "I… I don't know…"

"Tell you what, isn't Larry an artist?" suggested Phoenix, much to the prosecutor's horror. "I'll get him to paint you something new. How's that?"

"Good idea!" Maya chirped, clapping her hands together in joy. "Kinda like a 'welcome back' present, y'know? You've been spending too much time abroad!"

"Unfortunately, that is part of my occupation and interests, studying the laws of foreign countries -"

"But Nick missed you!" Maya exclaimed, ignoring the defence attorney's red-faced protest. "And I missed you too! Everybody missed you, Mr. Edgeworth, so it's really good to have you back again! Isn't that right, Nick?"

"Y-Yeah, I guess..." Phoenix mumbled, a little unexpectedly. His lips turned into a half-smile when Edgeworth looked at him in surprise. "I think it will be a nice gesture. It might even keep you here a little longer, huh?"

Edgeworth sighed in exasperation. "Wright, I don't need –" He began.

But Maya didn't let him finish. "Hey, hey, it's alright, Mr. Edgeworth!" She grinned, in that natural, charming way of hers, and lightly touched his arm. "Nick can afford a painting. In fact, I just had a really great idea! Mr. Edgeworth, do you mind if we borrow your picture for a bit?" She beamed, confidently. "Don't worry! I'll make sure that it looks _absolutely amazing_."

Edgeworth shook his head and groaned lightly. Somehow, he didn't feel a need to keep his hopes up.

* * *

><p>A mere two weeks later, they were back.<p>

"Ta-DAH!" Maya grinned, unveiling the new painting with gusto. "What do you think, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth stared.

"Um… I-It looks…" _Like a giant piece of wall graffiti. _He could find no other words to describe it. Edgeworth felt faintly aware of his jaw swinging loosely open.

"Yeah, well, Larry started painting, and then I felt like joining in…" Maya scratched her head sheepishly, though the mischievous grin on her face told him that she was feeling anything _but_ guilty. "… And then everyone else started drawing as well, and then it turned into a bit of a free-for-all. Isn't that right, Nick?"

"Yeah…" Phoenix, on the other hand, looked less than enthusiastic. "… I now have paint and glitter all over the office… I don't even know…"

"Well, we did have to start with a new canvas, cos Larry said something about the paint getting wet and stuff," Maya explained, waving over the details. "But he tried to stick to the original idea, with the mountain and village and things…"

"And you can see we've all made some changes," Phoenix added. "Um… Maya drew a burger stand…"

"'Cos where else would we go if we were hungry, Nick?" Maya protested. "And then Pearly decided to draw me and Nick buying burgers at the stand… A first date or something." She must have misinterpreted Edgeworth's look, for she flushed quickly and waved her hands about. "I-It's not true! Me and Nick are just friends, but Pearly thinks… Yeah…"

"Moooving on," Phoenix interrupted swiftly. "Larry drew the rainbow."

"… I see," which did explain why the colours were shocking enough to induce a heart attack in the elderly. "Presumably also the unicorn."

"Ah, no, that was Ms. Oldbag," Phoenix seemed rather put off by the mention of the name alone. "She wanted to write something to you as well, but we thought you, um, didn't need that."

"Oldbag?" An unpleasant shiver went down Edgeworth's spine, and he frowned. "Wait… How many people contributed to this…?" _Abnormality? Explosion? _The words which normally came easily to him in court now spluttered and died abruptly in his throat. It didn't make him feel better to hear that it had become something like a public convention.

"Everyone sort of came along…" Phoenix explained, looking exasperated. "I don't even know how they found out. I think even Franziska was there at one point…"

"Franziska?" He didn't even want to –

"Oh yeah. She wanted to draw herself whipping you!" Maya beamed. "But we thought that was a little harsh, so she painted some sunflowers."

"I… see." _That was certainly unexpected… _"Why… Why sunflowers?"

"She said you liked them," Maya shrugged. "Apparently you have a few in your house, and they're growing really tall." She beamed. "And anyway, here, on the streets…" She gestured, and Edgeworth frowned suspiciously at some rather familiar shaped blobs.

"Is that, um, supposed to be me…?" Indeed, somewhere near the burger stand, stood a rather serious looking magenta coloured figure, accompanied by what appeared to be a brown splodge (_maybe someone spilt some paint by accident?_) and a miscoloured pink and black stick figure with a strange crow like symbol by its side.

"Oh? That was Detective Gumshoe and this other girl, I think her name was Kay." Maya put in. "See, they drew themselves next to you, solving crimes and stuff. Apparently you guys get caught up in all sorts of adventures, Mr. Edgeworth! You need to tell me sometimes"

"I…" Edgeworth didn't know what to say.

"Yeah, and we also got Mr. Powers to draw the Steel Samurai on here!" Maya pointed out excitedly. "He even signed it too! He looked really happy to get a fan!"

"R-Right." Edgeworth tried not to look too excited by the idea, though the faint tremble in his hand may have given him away. "That was… very kind of you."

"Yeah! Your model of the Steel Samurai _is_ a vintage, isn't it, Mr. Edgeworth?" Maya exclaimed, eyes twinkling. "I always knew you were a fan!"

"I-It was just a present…" Edgeworth tried to protest, distinctly aware of the hot flush coming over his face.

"Lotta came to draw something as well," Phoenix put in, thankfully putting an end to the subject. "She said she felt bad for what happened in that other case, and then…"

The list seemed endless. Edgeworth felt himself listening in hesitant silence as the names of people churned on and on. Defendants, witnesses… Friends. It seemed as though everyone he knew had contributed something to this special chaos of a painting. It was… strangely moving, and for the first time in a long while, Edgeworth felt at a complete loss as to what to do with his emotions.

"… Ema was also there. Must have been the holidays, I guess. She drew some fancy science equipment in this corner, and then analysed the paint for us…"

"… then Pearly got some glitter out and Larry and I decorated the clouds…!"

"… Oh, yeah, Maggey said she was really thankful for you when you stuck up for her last time…"

"… drew a wolf. Some foreign agent they said you knew…"

"… Basically, a lot of people turned up," Phoenix summarised, and then an irritating grin appeared upon his face. "I didn't know you were making friends outside of us, Edgeworth!"

Edgeworth folded his arms. "Hmph. Colleagues, nothing more." He explained, carelessly.

"Didn't seem like that to me!" Maya grinned. "You're really popular, Mr. Edgeworth. Do you know that?"

_Popular…? _It was a strange thought, one which had never occurred to Edgeworth before. _Since when, upon this chaotic journey, did I make friends…?_

_But then again…_

He stared at the painting for a long time.

"W-Well," Phoenix cleared his throat, breaking Edgeworth out of his reverie. "I… I did study art in university, but I'm not any good at it, so I didn't draw anything…"

"Perhaps I should be grateful?" Edgeworth suggested wryly, still frowning in bewilderment at the chaos before him. _Apparently someone with a sweet tooth also had a hand in this... thing. __  
><em>

"That's – Hey!" Phoenix looked indignant. "I named it! Well… It's not exactly my name. I just sort of… Named it after the original painting." He paused dramatically. "We decided to call it: 'For Miles'."

"'For Miles'…?" Edgeworth repeated, blankly. "But the original painting was called… 'Mountainside Village', wasn't it?"

"Huh?" Maya blinked, and turned to Phoenix, who looked equally bemused. "But… Mr. Edgeworth, it says at the back of that old painting… The name was... Or did you not notice? Look… I even took a photo of it…"

Fumbling around in her pockets, she fished out a mobile phone and, after some clicking, handed it over to him.

Doubtfully, the prosecutor looked at the picture, and froze.

There indeed, in his father's faint, but precise handwriting, were the words: 'For Miles, G.E.' inscribed upon the back of the canvas. It was a warm sight, familiar and gentle, each stroke filled only with the tender love of a father to his son.

It was too much. He bowed his head.

* * *

><p>"… So, why d'you think he kicked us out all of a sudden?" asked Phoenix eventually, staring flabbergasted at the closed door of office 1202, a door which, five seconds ago, had been facing him from the other side. He frowned in confusion, one hand running idly through his spiked up hair. "… What did we do? Did he not like the picture? I told you the burger stand was too much!"<p>

Maya shook her head. "He kept it though," she pointed out with a smile, and patted Phoenix quickly on the shoulder. "Hey, it's alright, Nick. I think Mr. Edgeworth just didn't want us to see him crying, that's all."

Phoenix looked at the spirit medium for a long moment, and then he laughed.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," he grinned, expression clearing. "Edgeworth's always been like that, after all."

Still, he couldn't wait to tease the prosecutor for that later.

* * *

><p><em>"... and there was pleasure at hearing what all of us wanted to hear at least occasionally: that there was somebody who liked us, whatever our faults, and liked us sufficiently to say so."<em>

_**Alexander McCall Smith, The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party**_

**End**

**A/N: **Thank you for reading. Comments would be appreciated!


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